Tariq shrugged. “It’s possible…”
“No, it really isn’t,” Kamal corrected. “But my compliments for the effort.”
He stood and walked to the long bank of windows that graced his large, comfortable office.
“I’ll need you to hold on to this information until I decide how I’m going to handle it.”
“Of course, sir,” Tariq said as he stood and moved to the door.
“If you do find evidence of President Abbas’s direct involvement in any of this, you’ll tell me?” Kamal asked.
“As I’ve said before, sir, I work for you and only you,” Tariq answered. “There is no one else for me to tell.”
“Thank you,” Kamal said, turning to look the other man in the eye.
After Tariq left, Kamal called Teague. “We need to move faster than we thought,” he told his friend when he answered. “Either my father or my boss is going to end up in Guantanamo before this is all over. I’d very much like to be as far away from them both as possible when it happens.”
“All right,” Teague answered. “I think we can get the rest of the details put together in the next forty-eight hours.” He paused, but Kamal hardly noticed as his attention was drawn to the news ticker running across the bottom of his computer screen.
“Do you have news updates?” he asked Teague, his voice sounding disembodied to his own ears.
“Holy fuck…” Teague gasped in response.
“You’re seeing it?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot believe this!” Kamal roared. The press had blown holes in Derek’s flimsily constructed cover that he had been the one involved with the prostitute, and now everyone knew Senator Melville hired hookers. His campaign was over. Which also meant that Jessica’s party was without a replacement for her. Kamal’s heart ached as he realized the implications of this public relations nightmare.
“Look, why don’t I go talk to him, try to figure out how to extricate him from this as painlessly as possible?” Teague’s voice was soothing, and Kamal wondered if that was how he spoke to his clients when they were in volatile negotiations.
“He’s fucked this thing up from day one,” Kamal complained. “Has it never once occurred to him that this campaign affects so many people other than him and Melville?”
Teague merely continued with the verbal Zen. “I’ve got this. You have enough on your plate. I’ll find Derek and get a plan in place. You worry about your shit storm for today. Let me worry about his.”
Kamal couldn’t reveal that Derek’s shit storm was impacting Kamal’s own shit storm, so he agreed, ending the call and tossing the phone down on his desk with a loud clatter.
Then, without thinking, he picked up his phone and scrolled through his specially coded contacts list until he reached contact sixteen hundred. He pressed the call button and waited to hear her voice. A few minutes and several secretaries later, she answered.
“Mr. Ambassador?”
“Yes, Madam President. Thank you for taking my call.”
“Of course,” she responded politely, because they both knew that the line was monitored and recorded daily. They couldn’t talk freely here, but he had no other way to reach her.
“I wanted to offer my regrets for this morning’s news. I realize that these latest developments put your own future plans in jeopardy.”
Jessica sighed, her voice turning softer. “Yes, it makes things more difficult for me, but you certainly don’t need to worry about all that.”
“But I do,” he said matter-of-factly. “I choose to make your worries my worries, Madam President. And I wanted you to know that while everyone else is thinking of the party and the press and how to save their own skins, I am thinking of you.”
There was silence on the other end of the line now, and Kamal worried that he had said too much, taken things too far when she wasn’t yet ready.
“I cannot tell you how much that pleases me, Mr. Ambassador. I think…” She cleared her throat. “I think you are one of very few people who understand just how badly I want to change certain things in my future.”
“I do,” he consoled her softly.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then he heard her chief of staff come in to announce her next meeting, and within moments, the phone in his hand was transmitting nothing. He set it down on his desk, and made a vow, right then and there, that he was going to do everything in his power to make sure that Jessica Hampton was happy. Because he couldn’t think of a single soul who deserved happiness more than her.
Chapter 9
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the press secretary said as he leaned toward the mic. “The president will be here in a few moments, but first I’ll provide you with the briefing. Please remember that the president will absolutely not be entertaining any questions about Senator Melville or the upcoming presidential elections.”
The briefing room on the main floor of the White House was full of well-coifed reporters, along with the odd smattering of political bloggers and old-school print journalists. Camera shutters snapped and microphones jutted out from hands as everyone leaned forward, determined not to miss a single word that dropped from the speaker’s mouth.
Jessica stood behind the Secret Service in the doorway to the adjacent room. The White House stylist fussed with her hair and powdered her nose as Fiona muttered at her side, “I understand that they want to give the impression of making progress, but the fact is they don’t know anything new, or at least nothing that they’re willing to share. Making you stand up there with no information to provide is like sending a lamb to slaughter. Your approval ratings will plunge like a hawk after a rabbit.”
“You have to stop with the West Texas ranching metaphors,” Jessica responded, dabbing at her lipstick before smoothing the black skirt that she wore with an emerald silk blouse and black fitted cardigan. “And you have to stop worrying about my approval ratings. I’m not running again, so it doesn’t matter.”
Fiona’s mouth pressed into a firm line. “Except that Melville is done, the man’s goose is cooked, and now the party doesn’t have a replacement for you, which means they’re going to start begging any day now.”
“And I can’t hear them,” Jessica insisted. “They can beg until they’re blue—no pun intended—and it won’t change my mind. This is my last term. My only term.”
“What about if the Hamptons ask again?” Fiona asked softly.
Jessica sighed. Her in-laws were the one factor that she couldn’t make firm pronouncements about. The one factor that had always resulted in her making sacrifices she wasn’t ready for, didn’t want to continue, wasn’t happy with. But she loved them, and more importantly, they loved John, and by being close to them, it had made her feel a little closer to him after he was gone.
But now, with only fifteen months to go in her term, she knew that if she were ever going to be free, she needed to stand up not only to the party, but to her in-laws as well. Somehow she realized that if she didn’t take the stand now, it wasn’t ever going to happen. Another term in office and she would be too far gone to reclaim her life.
“They’re ready for you, ma’am,” the agent in front of her said as he turned, tapping his earpiece with his finger.
She took a deep breath and stepped into the room as every man and woman in it stood while her press secretary said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president.”
She walked to the lectern and took a moment to adjust the clear glass teleprompter so that it angled toward her. “Thank you.” She gave Marcus Ambrose from WNN a grim smile, wondering if he realized how badly his brother’s presidential candidate was screwing up her world.
“I think Mr. Reed was pretty thorough in his explanation of where we are with the investigation, but I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.”
The shouts of “Madam President” rang out and cameras snapped to life as the room exploded with the frenzy of a press starved for inf
ormation.
“Yes, Marcus?” Jessica said, pointing at the handsome young man who was fast becoming the political media’s new darling, thanks in no small measure to his brother Derek’s power brokering.
“Thank you, Madam President. I’m wondering if there is any truth to the rumors that the bullets found after the shooting have been linked to a special type of firearm used by Russian mafia assassins?”
Jessica had trained for six years to listen to questions like these and not flinch, show no signs that she was about to explode from the anxiety and pressure. But her heart raced, and she felt a sweat break out along the back of her neck.
She also knew that the best thing you could do in any given public or political situation was to give as little information as possible. John’s media staff had trained her that way in those early days when she was learning the job of a senator while stumbling through every day in a haze of grief and shock. Her tendency had been to talk to people—the press, other senators, constituents—as though they were regular people you might meet in the grocery store or fitness club.
“You shouldn’t have told them John didn’t like hot dogs,” his top aide had said to her the first time someone stopped her in the hallways of the Senate office building.
“Why?” she’d asked.
“Because if that story gets repeated and distorted, we could end up forty-eight hours from now having to defend John’s memory from the wrath of the pork producers’ association.”
It had been a wakeup call and Jessica’s first real clue that she couldn’t continue being her if she was going to be John as well.
“I’m not aware of any proof that evidence from the shooting has been linked to Russia,” she answered Marcus, pointing to the next reporter at the same time.
“Are you afraid for your safety, Madam President?” the next reporter queried.
“Not at all.” She smiled. “I have the finest protection force in the world seeing to my safety each and every day. The men and women of the United States Secret Service are exceptional at what they do.”
She pointed to a brunette with a red jacket in the back of the room.
“So how did the assassin manage to shoot at you before? Wasn’t the Secret Service there at the time?”
“As the secretary already indicated, we think that the assassin came onto the grounds with a sanctioned group, then hid out in the pond at the children’s playground. The water masked any scent that might have been noticed by the dogs who accompany the perimeter patrol.”
“Madam President.” A well-known anchor from British TV news stood and spoke, outmaneuvering anyone who was going to be polite and let the president choose speakers. “Members of the foreign press are concerned that the United States may be under attack from someone with inside access. What is the Department of Homeland Security saying about that?”
Jessica checked the sigh that wanted to escape her lips. “I say that while we haven’t caught the parties who did this, I have utmost faith and trust in all the staff who work here at the White House and in my cabinet. Whoever took that shot at me was crafty and lucky, but not an insider.”
The press exploded again, shouting to be heard over one another, and the press secretary walked toward the podium, leaning in toward Jessica’s ear when he reached her. “Your three o’clock meeting is here, ma’am,” he said, even though Jessica knew full well she had no three o’clock meeting.
“I’ll take three more questions, then that will be all,” the secretary said. “The president has to get to her next engagement now.”
With that, Jessica slipped out of the room and walked back toward her office, Secret Service and scheduling secretary in tow.
“I don’t have anything else until eight?” Jessica asked, pumps moving quickly down the hall.
“Yes, ma’am, but we have a situation.”
“Continue,” Jessica commanded, bracing herself for anything from a fire in the White House kitchens to a nuclear missile being deployed.
“Senator Melville has been shot.”
Jessica stopped, frozen in place, before turning to look at her secretary. “Is he…?”
“He’s been taken to Walter Reed, we don’t have any more details at this point, but the Secret Service has been deployed already to protect him and his family.”
“Good.” Jessica took a sharp breath. “I want updates on his condition hourly. Let Vanessa know so she can get Angela Melville on the phone. That poor woman has endured more in a week than anyone should have to in a whole lifetime. I’ll want to express my support to her as soon as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am. And there’s one other thing.”
“What?”
“The ambassador is here asking to see you.”
“The ambassador? Which ambassador?” Jessica asked distractedly as she entered the Oval Office and stripped off her cardigan.
“This ambassador,” Kamal’s deep voice and British inflections answered from where he stood near the fireplace, hands behind his back as he looked at an oil painting of George Washington that hung above the mantel.
“Oh!” Jessica squeaked. “Mr. Ambassador. You startled me.” She pressed her hand over her chest, her breath whooshing out in a rush as her eyes met his, dark and dangerous when his gaze raked over her.
“The uh, ambassador from Egypt?” her secretary added timidly.
“Yes, I see that,” Jessica snapped, trying to recover, her cheeks turning hot as she reached her desk and began to shuffle piles of papers from place to place.
“Do you need anything else, ma’am?”
Jessica shot the wary young woman a cold look. “Perhaps some warning next time? And please send in—”
“Cookies, yes, ma’am.”
Jessica sighed, trying to release the tension that the combination of the press conference, Melville’s shooting, and a surprise visit from Kamal brought.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in,” he said, approaching her desk.
“Well, I guess you were right. My staff needs to have some more training. Certainly leaving a foreign dignitary unaccompanied in the Oval Office isn’t our finest moment.”
“Jessica?” Kamal’s voice was soft.
She looked up. “Yes?”
“The Secret Service were here, just outside the open doorway.” He gestured toward the door that her secretary had shut on her way out.
Jessica nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“It has, and I assume the staff just told you about Melville?”
“Yes. It’s horrible. No matter what messes he’s created, I wouldn’t wish this on him.”
“Of course not, and I’ve just come from the hospital, so I can tell you that he’s been taken into surgery and his family and the Secret Service are there. Everyone is safe.”
“Well, thank God for that. How in the world were you there?
“I was with Derek when he got the news.”
She nodded in understanding.
“Do you have time to sit for a moment?” he asked then, gesturing toward her sitting area.
She remembered to breathe, her adrenaline rush from the last hour giving way to something much warmer and more tingly. Something that wrapped itself around her insides and refused to let go.
“Of course.”
Instead of taking his usual place across the coffee table from her, Kamal sat on the same love seat as her and crossed his long legs, the movements elegant and powerful at the same time. Jessica turned toward him, her hands nervously folded in her lap.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Ambassador?”
His eyes were warm, and Jessica could feel herself drawn to lean into him like a magnet to metal. “Will you call me Kamal today?” he asked.
A knock sounded at the door before she could answer, and a server entered carrying the requisite tea and cookies. Once they’d been served and were alone again, Kamal continued. “You’re tired.” He placed a third cookie on the plate she held.
&
nbsp; “And a third cookie will help that?”
He shrugged. “You always feel better after your sugar.”
She couldn’t help the jolt of longing that stabbed through her at his familiarity. It reminded her of what it felt like to have someone who loved you, knew you, watched out for you.
She bit into one of the cookies, and he grinned at her moan of delight. “You’re right,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate and pecans. “I feel better already.”
“Good. Because I’ve come with some different news that I need to share.”
Jessica braced herself, knowing that in her line of work, no one began a sentence like that and had it end with good news.
“I promised you that I would have my staff look into the shooting, and I have. I didn’t come to you sooner because I needed time to process the information that has been brought to my attention.”
“Okay…”
“Madam President. Jessica.” He looked at her tenderly, and she clutched the edge of the sofa so she wouldn’t reach out to touch him. She longed to feel what she felt the day he’d kissed her, his warm body pressed against hers, his muscles enveloping her, his breath tantalizing her.
“We think that the man who tried to shoot you that night was a member of the Russian mafia—”
“The Bratva,” she finished for him.
“You already know.”
“Only that the bullets they found were the type used by Bratva assassins. We haven’t been able to tie that to any motives. We can’t seem to figure out how the Bratva might be connected to any of the jihadist groups we suspect would do this.”
“That’s because this isn’t about terrorism or jihadists,” Kamal warned. “Or at least not directly.”
“Explain, please.”
He shifted, running a hand through his hair, and once again, she was struck by how very much this man appealed to her. His careful approach to discussions, his thoughtful comments, and the way he seemed to be in charge of a room even when he was being deferential to her.
“We have discovered that the Bratva are planning to move massive quantities of drugs into the Middle East. But, they’re able to do it legally.”
POTUS: A Powerplay Novel Page 10
